


If love is a labor I'll slave till the end

by concertconfetti



Series: Witchertober 2020 [11]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Other, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Relationship, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Sort Of, Wishful Thinking, Witchertober (The Witcher), for Geralt and Dandelion, gerlion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: Dandelion knew there were several ways to love someone and, deep down, he needed more than just romance. Or sex. He decides that what he has with Priscilla is enough, but, like always, she's a bit smarter than he is on matters of the heart.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Priscilla
Series: Witchertober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952140
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	If love is a labor I'll slave till the end

**Author's Note:**

> written for Witchertober Day 21 - Wish  
> Inspired by [artwork created by tomiyeee which can be found here](https://tomiyeee.tumblr.com/post/190168287479/yall-ever-just-like)

Dandelion was telling the truth when he said he loved Priscilla - he was telling the truth when he declared his love for any of the lovely people in his life. But the bard knew better than anyone that love came in many kinds. He’d tried, throughout his life, to subsist on one form of love alone, be it physical, emotional, romantic, or a mixture of the three. Dandelion was never satisfied. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy himself. He’d loved often and well throughout the Continent, men and women alike, and crafted some of his best works from their stories. But those loves weren’t lasting, through no fault of the parties involved. (Well, Dandelion thought, perhaps he was a _some_ fault, as he did seem to have a predilection for sweeping the _otherwise unavailable_ off their feet.) The call of travel was simply greater than the connections built in the bedroom. 

But Dandelion was attached to Priscilla in a way he hadn’t felt since… well, since Geralt, and the feelings were so familiar he fell into familiar patterns of longing, of wishing - Priscilla provided a companionship he’d never experienced. They were equals in many things, but she was so much more aware of herself and the others in a way Dandelion never quite managed (he blamed his rearing - mother and father did their best, but being raised noble limited him). They spent many evenings of her recovery writing together, exchanging notes like schoolmates and falling asleep, half-dressed, leaning on one another. It was more intimacy than Dandelion ever experienced before (except, perhaps, with Geralt). 

It’s a surprise, then, when Priscilla was able to speak softly (with the aid of signed language Triss taught her), that she sat down with Dandelion on their bed and said, “I don’t understand something, Dandelion.” 

“What is it, dear heart?” He was writing out lyrics to a ballad they’d been working on for weeks, staring intently at his notebook. Priscilla reached out and gently turned Dandelion’s head towards her.

“I don’t understand why you’re still here,” she said, and Dandelion’s face fell. “Not that I don’t love you, darling, but. I thought you would have gone after Geralt by now."

Dandelion blinked. "Why… would I have gone after Geralt?" 

Priscilla sighed and smiled at him the way she always did when he was being obtuse - soft, kind, though with a hint of mirth that left him entirely convinced this would feature as a plot point in one of her comedic plays. "Dandelion, my love, everyone on the Continent knows you're hopelessly in love with the Witcher you so dutifully followed all this time," she said with a hint of dry laughter in her raspy voice. "So? Why have you not gone to Corvo Bianco? Told him how you feel, now that he's left the Path?"

"Well -" Dandelion huffed as if offended. "I- I love you, Priscilla, and -"

"Yes, you do," Priscilla agreed, "and I love you, but neither of us is… romantically in love."

"How can you say that?" Dandelion asked miserably, turning away and hanging his head. He'd been doing so well - this was _enough_. Wasn't it?

"Because I know you, you big idiot," Priscilla said softly, placing a gentle hand on her partner's shoulder. "You're my partner. But you need more, and that's alright. You can…" she hesitated a moment, thinking of her phrasing "...you can have both of us. If you'd like. Because we fill different spaces in your heart."

"But -"

"Dandelion, you write about this sort of thing all the time," Priscilla insisted, gripping his shoulder. "The multiple kinds of love. Why is it so hard to believe you could have multiple people to fill those loves? Your sexual exploits?"

"It has come up quite a bit in that realm yes," Dandelion said, feeling more than a bit… defeated. He'd been told by everyone, including _Ciri_ of all people, that he needed to settle down. Hadn't he done that? And what if Geralt… he certainly couldn't _want_ Dandelion in the same way. It would have come up! Regis would have asked in one of his _infuriating_ interviews and Dandelion would have been too drunk not to confess and Geralt would have…

"You really think I can? Have you both?" Dandelion asked, voice small and tired. Priscilla leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. They sat there in the quiet for a long minute.

"Only if you grant me the same kindness," Priscilla says quietly, almost too quietly for Dandelion to hear. He lets out a soft, breathy laugh.

"Of course, my love,” Dandelion said, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. He could plan a trip down to Toussaint in the morning - for now, he closed his eyes and traced the well-worn image of a dream, something he’d wished fervently for while he sat in prison on Temple Isle. He and Geralt were together and alone - didn’t matter where, though now he supposed they might be at Corvo Bianco. They would have been talking (and drinking and eating) like they used to before the Wild Hunt, before Priscilla and Zoltan, and...and everything. And maybe Geralt’s hair would be undone and maybe it would fall in his face and Dandelion, warm and comfortable and so very much in love, would reach out and brush Geralt’s hair back, his fingers ghosting along his cheekbone. His hand would settle on Geralt’s cheek, curling against his jaw and Geralt… Geralt would _know_ and he’d reach up and lace his fingers with Dandelion’s; he’d bring the back of Dandelion’s hand to his lips. And Dandelion would kiss Geralt gently, swiping a thumb over the scar on his face. 

Perhaps that, then, might be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Swing Life Away by Rise Against 
> 
> I just want Dandelion to be less lecherous and more soft and dumb....


End file.
